


Out for a Bite

by CaptainStormChaser



Series: Matt Murdock, Vampire at Law [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Public Masturbation, Russian mafia shenanigans, Semi-Public Sex, This is why you shouldn’t accept oral sex from strangers in alleyways, matt you really shouldn’t smoke, vampire!Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: Vladimir needed a fight, a drink, a fuck. All three if he could manage it.Lucky for him, Matt’s hunting tonight.





	Out for a Bite

Recent... _incidents_ had led to setbacks in both production and distribution. When Gao was unhappy, everyone was unhappy.

And when Vladimir was unhappy he was livid, and their men worked double time to make up for it, careful not to catch the more volatile brother’s eye. He looked out over the operations for the night, chain smoking as his muscles itched for a fight.

Each man was doing their work, knowing that any slip up would result in their blond leader taking out his frustrations. A diversion they couldn’t afford right now. The amount of heroine they were moving tonight was far too small, their money for flesh cut nearly in half the past few weeks. Organs were holding steady, if only because of the significant amount of blood they’d spilled searching for their culprit. Fisk was pissed, his mouthpiece expressing such to them with cool tact. The sooner the bastard sabotaging their operation was beaten into the floor and shot for good measure, the sooner the near-constant headache at the base of Vladimir’s skull would fade.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him from his musings on how the masked man might look crawling and writhing on the floor with his knees broken.

Tolya, it was only Tolya.

“You should take a break.” Anatoly told him, face full of brotherly concern that Vladimir could not lash out at. “Burn some energy. I can handle everything for a few hours.”

Vladimir bristled at the suggestion, but flicked his cigarette butt away. Without a word, he left the warehouse on the waterfront. No car, he needed to feel his blood pumping. He needed a fight, a drink, a fuck. All three if he could manage it, slipping into the streets.

A bar would be best, though at least one of his goals would be poor quality if the others were passable. He patted down his jacket for another smoke, only to remember he’d left the pack on the railing he’d been standing at.

The click of a lighter drew Vladimir’s attention, then the smell of his brand of smokes.

A man in maroon sunglasses and a suit stood at the mouth of an alleyway that Vladimir was just about to pass, leaning casually on a red and white cane and letting a cigarette burn between his fingers.

“Would you like one?”

Vladimir blinked. “What?”

The man smiled, toothy and patronizing. “You seem like you need a smoke.”

He felt as though ants were crawling beneath his skin, always needing the nicotine more when he was angry. Fight, drink, fuck, and now smoke. One wasn’t bad, staring him in the face. Possibly two. He noted the pink lips the smile rested on, the tapering waist beneath the suit.

Vladimir stepped off the sidewalk, keeping a decent distance from the man.

The man kept his face forward, fishing another cigarette out one handed and offering it to Vladimir.

The Russian accepted it, placing it between his lips. The man clicked his lighter again, holding it at a fixed point that Vladimir had to move forward towards to light the end of his cigarette.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” The man toned, dropping his cigarette butt to the asphalt and rubbing it out with his shoe.

Vladimir grunted. “Needed a smoke.”

The man’s unseeing gaze turned onto Vladimir, one thick eyebrow arching over the round lenses. “Was that _all_ you need?”

Vladimir swallowed thickly, stubbing out his cigarette. He was struck with the sudden urge to push this man to his knees and make him rip up his suit pants while Vladimir held him by his combed hair and fucked his mouth.

Vladimir was therefore fairly surprised when the blind man punched him in the face.

A moment of stillness, of shock, and he spat blood onto the ground. He tongued the jagged cut where his teeth had caught his lip. The ‘blind’ man watched him expectantly.

“I’ll fucking kill y-”

Vladimir had no sooner spoken that the man shoved him up against the wall, suddenly right in his face. Still fucking smirking, teeth and skin looking abnormally white in the light that reached them from the lamp across the street.

“It wouldn’t be fun if neither us put up a fight.” He said softly, and then he was back on the other side of the alley.

Bastard was fast. Unless Vladimir had hit his head when the man sucker punched him.

Vladimir watched with dangerous eyes as the man propped his can against the rough wall, removing his glasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket. The jacket itself he managed to hook on the top of the cane. In the next heartbeat he had turned to catch the blow Vladimir was about to bring down, then the other fist aiming for his gut.

His grip was like iron around Vladimir’s wrists, and he strained to break free until the man simply let him go.

It genuinely seemed to surprise the man when Vladimir broke his nose, but did nothing to stagger him. Indeed, he laughed aloud as blood dripped onto his pressed white shirt. Who the fuck was this guy? Some fried out druggy looking for a free thrill?

In an instant, Vladimir’s back was flat against the wall, hands pinned over his head and a vice-like grip around his throat.

“That was a good hit.” The man told him. “I’m impressed.”

Vladimir had a retort, or maybe a threat on his tongue, but it fell away as the man dropped to his knees, hands undoing Vladimir’s belt.

In the back of his mind, Vladimir knew he should knee this son of a bitch in the face and bash his goddamn skull in on the street, but...

But.

Vladimir had come out for this very reason. His blood was pounding, and now there was a hand on his dick.

He put threaded his fingers through the man’s hair, not pulling, just holding it tightly. “If you bite, I tie you up where no one will hear you scream and leave you to the rats.”

The man had no response but to shove Vladimir’s underwear down and fish out his cock. He was half hard already, their scuffle more warmup than any release of the tension Vladimir carried.

His mouth was cool when it closed over the head of Vladimir’s cock, an unusual sensation made pleasant by soft lips working the foreskin back. As he took Vladimir deeper, the temperature increased. The man stroked the shaft as he bobbed his head, letting out a low hum that shot up Vladimir’s spine.

Vladimir’s fingers tightened, pulling the man’s hair. The sharp moan the man made caught him off guard, and Vladimir realized the man had his cock out and his other hand around it.

“You like that?” Vladimir murmured. “Like having mouth used like whore?” The groan around his cock spoke to the positive.

Vladimir put both hands on the man’s head now, fucking into his mouth, satisfied with the soft click of his gag reflex. He gave no warning as he drew close, holding the man still as he came down his throat. The man groaned, his own cum spilling onto the ground by Vladimir’s shoes,

Vladimir released the man’s hair, and there was rough panting when the man pulled off. Vladimir let his back hit the wall, dragging in slow breaths. The man was mouthing and licking at his softening cock, turning his head to nuzzle the dark blonde hair, inhaling deeply. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin of Vladimir’s inner thighs. The connotation of the area, the nearness, would have stirred Vladimir’s arousal if he wasn’t already spent- “Fuck!”

Sharp teeth closed down on his thigh, the man’s hands suddenly an unforgiving vice around his leg.

Vladimir rained blows down on the man’s head, not even phasing him as fingers squeezed bruises into Vladimir’s skin.

The knife in his back pocket came out, switchblade opening and coming down into the man’s back a half dozen times before he let go, that white dress shirt stained crimson.

The man collapsed onto his face, and Vladimir stepped over him. The man groaned when he twisted the knife, but was still. Vladimir’d told him not to bite him. Vladimir pulled his pants up.

He rummaged through the man’s pockets, but found no wallet or keys or even a phone. Only the cigarettes and the lighter in the man’s jacket, which Vladimir pocketed. Junkie was looking more and more likely. He wiped the knife on the man’s shirt and took it with him.

He put his hand on his inner thigh, feeling for wetness but pulling it away clear. A bit of saliva, but no blood. He’d thought the man had at least broken skin.

Vladimir took note of the street address and left. He’d send someone to deal with the body later.

Matt waited until he could no longer hear Vladimir’s footsteps to get up, his back sore as the wounds attempted to stitch themselves together. He’d taken maybe a half a pint before losing three, so not his best feeding, but he had a couple bags in his fridge. He’d come to get information on the leaders of the Russian mob, and he had.

Vladimir was far more headstrong than his brother, who’d only given Matt a polite—though insistent—refusal when he’d tracked him down at a bar some days earlier. The weaker link. They’d thought they could draw Matt out with that kid, but Vladimir had showed his hand. Separate from Anatoly, Vladimir was impulsive. Now Matt just needed to get him _really_ pissed.

* * *

“Oh come on, seriously?” Foggy groaned the moment Matt walked into the office. Karen wasn’t in yet, the small office space absent of her pulse and the perfume of her skin.

Matt raised his brows in a show of innocence. “What?”

“You know what. I can always tell, cause you freaking glow.” Foggy groused over the acrid sputtering of the coffee drip. Foggy leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms and chancing his first unfortunate sip. “So come on, what was she like? If I can’t get laid I’m going to live vicariously through you.”

Matt smiled softly to himself as he passed by Foggy, pushing in the door to his office. “Good legs.” He answered, letting the door close behind him.


End file.
